Atypical Amity
by cinder16
Summary: Wes is always angry that he's being called crazy because he always tries to prove that Danny Phantom is Danny Fenton. He kept that frustration until Jason, a psychology major from Oklahoma budded his nose in and turned his life and everyone elses around him upside down. Could, Jason help him prove the truth about Fenton or about himself? DannyxWes JazzxOc Warning: Porn With Plot
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yup, I died for a long while. I'm in my twenties and moved around, worked long hours, and had drama so much that I gave up on writing for the longest time. However, I'm back for a while and I present Danny Phantom because I'm an overgrown nerd. Whelp, to my embarrassment, I'm leaving my old fics from Naruto and so forth on my page. Please don't judge me on my horrible older writing style. I'm trying to get better. Anyway on with the show. Any questions, please ask.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Students milled around Casper High School carefully avoiding the yet to be cleaned up broken glass. No one batted an eye. They knew this carnage was the result from yet another ghost attack involving Danny Phantom, resident ghost fighter, and an unidentified ghost. Most students cheered the teen ghost fighter, seeing as how it easily got them out of class. Some however, didn't feel so content with this paranormal superhero. Wesley Weston, Wes to most, grumbled under his breath as his basketball sneakers squeaked lightly against the gym locker room floor. He absolutely hated Danny Phantom. It wasn't that he was a danger to other students or his powers. No. Wes hated him because everyone was blind that Danny Phantom was Danny Fenton. He even went as far as saying his finding out loud and Fenton actually MOCKED him. Well, mocked as in a smug smile and an 'I don't know what you're talking about' expression.

Ever since Wes moved to Amity Park five, nearly six years ago, he had noticed how absent minded people were. If it wasn't ghost attacks, the Men in White, or the Fenton Household causing some sort of disturbance; Wes could say that this town was somewhat normal. Wes tossed open his newly dented gym locker to grab his backpack. Today was a treat for sure. A metal hunter ghost and a giant ghost dog. Where would the surprises end? He felt ready to slam his fist into his locker door. The clop of boots caught Wes's attention. The young basketball player turned and saw another student standing at the entrance to the boy's locker room. It was Jay, or was it Jason; he couldn't quite recall, standing before him. Wes narrowed his forest green eyes at the half baked punk rocker and sneered.

"You come to make fun of me too?"

The punk rocker raised a manicured eyebrow at the much shorter teen and proceeded to walk to another locker across the way to him.

"Hey, I said something to you, Jay," Wes shouted!

Faster than Wes could think, the other boy slammed the teens shoulder back against the mangled remains of his locker door and sneered back, holding the basketball player steady.

"You need to learn to pick your battles, kid," he drawled with a light southern accent, "This is why people are starting to call you crazy."

Wes stared back at his captor in shock. How did he move so quickly and what in the hell was he talking about? Picking battles with whom? The only one he's messing with is this guy. Jason's dark blue eyes bored into Wes's green for a few moments before releasing the younger man.

"I mean, Danny Fenton," the punk reiterated, "people here have the awareness of a field mouse. Making displays of your theory is making everyone more blind to the truth. They see it as so ridiculous that even if the Fenton kid does come out, they'll think it's a lie."

Wes was awestruck. Someone believed him. He could have laughed, cried, danced in happiness, but in reality, all he did was stand against his locker gaping like a fish out of water. Jason glanced sideways at Wes and sighed, stuffing his wallet in his pocket from his own mangled locker.

"Wha-you…you know he's Phantom," Wes stammered ridiculously, "How? Everyone just laughs at me."

"I know," Jason drawled lightly, "is because I'm not from here. I don't accept hand fed crap and half baked lies as truths. Also, a minor in psychology helps."

Wes winced at Jason's hard spoken words. He nearly forgot the teen had transferred from Oklahoma to Wisconsin nearly half a year ago. Every rocker, Goth, or scene girl drooled over the guy so much; you'd forget he's a natural born hick under the thin eyeliner and red dyed hair. It was now that Wes actually looked at the man. He was sixteen while Wes himself was fourteen. The guy wore thin black eyeliner making the dark, navy blue of his eyes gleam and his oddly neat razored red-brown hair hung loose while a seemingly purposeful five o' clock shadow marred his slightly rounded jaw line. He looked much older than his age allowed and Wes would be jealous if he was more vain.

"Come on kid, get yourself together," Jason said, catching Wes's attention, "You want real proof of Phantom?"

Wes spluttered and jerked himself around to make sure no one was listening.

"What are you getting at? I already proved it once and no one listens to me."

Jason grinned widely, showing naturally pointed fangs. A deep, darkness in the teens blue eyes made Wes shiver lightly.

"Yes, yes you did," Jason agreed, leaning his taller form against the locker behind him, "But, you're proving it to the wrong person. People are stupid, a person is smart. "

Wes was utterly confused. This guy is psychology minor and he's entirely insane. The teen backed away slowly from him.

"Come now," Jason drawled on, "it's simple extortion. Make Phantom know you have his secret without spluttering it out like a Pixar character. If the guy is hiding behind the novelty that others think there's no way he could be Phantom, then I say it's time to play a little cat and mouse. That is, until the mouse runs head first into the mousetrap."

Jason's wild grin dimmed down into a calm leer as he finished speaking. Why would this guy help him out Fenton? What was in it for him? Wes had never spoken to the punk rocker until today. They were WAY too far from each other on the school food chain. Wes followed Jason onto what was left of the gym floor before lowering his voice so no one else could hear.

"What do you get out of this?"

Jason's fanged smile made another appearance. A loud bellowing laugh roared out of the other teen like he told the world's funniest joke.

"It's going to be part of my semester project. Manipulation and how younger minds react compared to an adult's reasoning skills," Jason chuckled, "I saw your display with Fenton and thought I could squeeze an A onto my report card with this mess. Maybe get some entertainment out of it as well."

"You- You're crazy," Wes muttered as he walked close to the other teen, "I think you need to be evaluated."

Jason snorted, pushing open the gym door and casually holding it open for Wes.

"Nah," the other teen answered simply, "I just see the world differently. If you think I'm scary, read some of the killer profiles our Psychology classes have to proper evaluate mental illness. All I can say about myself is that I have a problem with emotional detachment."

Wes cringed. This felt like a horrible idea. Jason gave him the creeps from hell. How can girls fall over and kiss his boots all the time? He's manipulative. The taller teen glanced across the school yard at the other students and pulled a pen from his pocket.

"Call me if you want this plan to work out more," Jason spoke softly, "It's up to you if you want my involvement. I'm just going to observe for now."

The rocker quickly grabbed Wes's free hand and jotted down his phone number on the stretch of skin near Wes's thumb and briskly walked away, making it seem like they were just leaving the gym together. Wes stood at the gym doorway for several moments, uncertain of what he was going to do. Stay the course, and watch Fenton until he exposes himself as Phantom or get Jason's help and manipulate Fenton into doing it himself? It was a hard decision. On his own, he was already mocked, but with Jason's help he could make anything happen. The guy already had Fenton's friend Sam Manson in his pocket from the time that the rocker commented on how fake Paulina's eyebrows were. He had never heard the Latina girl cry until then. It only took five words to get Sam on the guys side.

" _ **You're eyebrow's are really tacky."**_

That's all it took.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- Sorry for the lack of Wes and Danny as of yet. I was introducing Jason and his upcoming role in the plot. Next chapter is Wes and Danny. I'm really liking to put more Jason and Jazz interaction in personally, but Oc's are a bit overrated now-a-days. Anywho, onward!**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

"Miss Fenton. Pay attention in my class, "Mr. Lancer barked, jerking Jazz out of her reverie, "I don't need both Fenton's failing my class."

Small heckles and snorts echoed across the classroom making Jazz wish she hadn't tricked Danny into this class as an extracurricular. Across the room, Sam kicked Danny awake from under his desk. These long nights ghost hunting have been taking it out of everyone; herself included.

"As I was saying, "Lancer concluded, "I need everyone to put their practice thesis on my desk no later than Tuesday to get credit and okay your subjects. I don't want any last minute ideas written on napkins; Mr. Fenton; or I will knock off twenty points off your project. I want all of you to take this class seriously."

Lancer prattled on for a few minutes as Jason sat in the back of the class observing his surroundings when the classrooms attention was on the teacher.

"Let's see here," the rocker thought dully, "the ginger princess got her ass handed to her. What fun."

Jason flicked his eyes across the other side of the room, seeing Wes seethe quietly as he drew Danny Phantom symbols angrily on his notebook. Jason quietly tapped the song Voodoo by Godsmack on his knee plotting. He knew Lancer had a bad habit of putting problem students together to possibly make them work out their own version of truces, but how was he going to work this to his own angle? There were too many variables.

" ," Lancer barked a bit angrier, "Do I need to remind you of what I just told Miss Fenton?"

"I'm listening," Jason barked back calmly, "I'm just planning a thesis. That's what you wanted, right?"

The portly teacher leered angrily at the rocker sitting in the back of the room, considering detention, but the teen refused to ever go to detention unless he needed homework help or was picking up one of his delinquent friends.

"Don't get an attitude, Mr. Shirwell," Lancer answered annoyedly, "It's too early in the day to send you to the Principal's office."

Jason scoffed and picked up his pencil, pretending to take notes to appease the portly teacher.

"As I was saying," Mr. Lancer continued, "Seeing as only a few of you have a full grasp on this thesis, I suppose a team project is in order. We will continue this thesis in pairs. Each person has to work in a union, both in the main thesis as well as their own separate ideals and opinions on the project. I will start picking partners now."

Everyone looked up. This was going to be interesting.

"Paulina-Baxter, Manson-Foley, -Weston, Miss Fenton-Shirwell."

Immediately, Sam and Tucker glanced nervously at each other, Wes looked nervously at a obviously drowsey Danny, and Jason flinched before making eye contact with ever nosey Jazz Fenton. He hadn't seen this coming. It was just as much of an advantage as it was a disadvantage to his plan. He liked the idea of easily manipulating Jazz into throwing her two cents in on his own personal project, but her protective nature of her brother would definetly interfere where he didn't need it. Jason flicked his gaze back to Jazz as she flipped through her own personal notebook on psychology ideas. He knew her well enough from his observation that when she pulled out her purple, highlighter stained folder that he had a small window of opportunity to slip in his plan on 'including' her on his project.

"Jason?" Jazz cautiously asked as she got up and sat her purple folder on his desk. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Jazz and I have a pretty good list of ideas for our project."

He listened to her talk excitedly until he noticed her observing his style of dress, her eyes taking in details where he could already see her trying to churn out a thesis of his personality like that poor goth, Spike, that he heard was her project back in Sophomore year. He almost snickered when he heard that her parents, resident ghost hunters, had covered her in ectoplasmic goop directly after she opened her big mouth to Spike.

"I have an idea as well." He began, his fluid-like speaking catching her attention as well as the twang to his words. "It involves something you may be interested in."

A short time after those words were muttered, Jason had found himself being followed down the street by his new temporary partner. The girl seemed to take in everything around them as she guided him to Fenton Works to write down the base thesis for their project. Something that he was sure that Lancer would approve of.

"You are by definition, strange." Jazz commented cooly, their eyes meeting as they walked.

Several ideas why she had said that ran through his mind. He didn't answer, letting her speak for herself like he assumed she would.

"You give signs of common rebelliousness, normal for our age, but there's something about you that isn't normal. It feels like detachment. That's something we covered in last semester about serial killers."

Jason nearly tripped himself hearing her compare him to someone like Ted Bundy. How rude.

"No." He immediately answered. "You're wrong."

Jazz huffed at his comment.

"You're wrong because, you're scratching the surface. Sometimes I might not seem _well_ , but I don't kill people. You're acting like showing one syndrome is enough to enact a treatment. My tactics are erratic and different from common psychology by a long stretch, but I can guarantee that you won't figure me out simply by staring at me for ten minutes."

Jazz blushed, not realizing he had caught her staring at him. She reached for something, anything to use as a comeback.

"Yeah, well—you need to learn how to shave!"

Jason stopped walking at the steps toward the Fenton Works door to turn to her and stare with a mildly surprised stare. Had she seriously gotten so low that this was her go-to argument? A thought came across him as he rubbed his scruffy chin thoughtfully.

Jazz paled. Shave? Seriously? Couldn't she come up with something better than that? In her observation of him, the pure masculinity of his growing beard caught her off guard. Most punks, rockers, and Goths were clean shaven for their social cliques. He was different. He looked so rugged, but clean. His uneven razored hair was combed downward evenly, he presented himself with a form of pride, and she could even smell his clean scent of light cologne and shampoo. It made her feel uncomfortably warm with him. She realized that she used his facial hair as an excuse because she was interested in the masculinity of it somewhere in the recesses of her mind.

Jason looked into her wide, blue eyes like she had come across some sort of revelation and leaned down to her. He acted on impulse, knowing the worst that would happen was that if she reacted badly to him and his actions, she would simply slap him and scream that he was a lecher. It was a gamble he felt ready to take. Quickly closing the distance between the two teens, he chastely kissed her jaw, his beard scraping her sensitive skin softly. He felt her gasp and jump in surprise as he gently bit and scraped his teeth against her earlobe. He pulled back to see her expression, hoping it wasn't anger. He'd be lying if he ever said that the warmth of intimate moments like this hadn't warmed a long cold part of him. Her expression was shy, shocked, and easily embarrassed. He felt the urge to comfort her and apologize for using her like this. It left a small sting of regret in his heart to make her and himself feel such a soft emotion knowing that she would reject him after she found out what kind of man he was.

Jazz's red cheeks flushed pale as he noticed her staring at something from over his shoulder toward the front door of Fenton Works. Jason turned, but not quickly enough when he felt the hard grasp and slam of someone that could easily be a Packer's linebacker throw him into the brick walls of the Fenton Works building. The large, angry scowl of a goliath of a man stared him down as he held him by his collar bone to the brick. Jason didn't see the large orange beast grab him until he was already gasping lightly from the pressure on his chest. The man's eyes were so concentrated with hate that they would have been red if it was humanly possible.

"Daddy." Jazz whispered under her breath, too much unlike herself. "Please…"

Crap. He didn't account for this in his plans. Jason had never actually seen Jack Fenton in person. He thought the man would be nearly his size, not this. This man could crush someone with the hands he felt on him. It made an unusual sense of fear rake down his spine. He wasn't used to this feeling. Fathers of the girls he'd seen barely looked at him, just passing him off as a phase boyfriend.

"Who is this punk?" Jack's baritone snarled, ready to crush the man in his hands.

"He's my psychology partner." Jazz explained with a stutter. "W-we were coming home to—to work on Mr. Lancer's thesis paper."

Jack's grip tightened; not seeing the kind of fear he deserved from this punk for putting his filthy hands on his Jazzy-pants. The kid in his hold didn't panic or go limp like the few other boys he's dealt with before. He was relaxed, but ready to move, much like V-Man was during their reunion party a couple of years back when he hugged the older man.

"Put me down." Jason ordered from his spot against the bricks, authority holding firm in his voice.

Most people would call this a stupid move while being held up by a giant like Jack. Jack lowered his arm before slamming it back, Jason in tow. The teen grunted in pain, refusing to let anything show except for his own frustration. Jazz was watching in shock. The two men were locked in their own version of a pissing contest and there was a slim chance for him to escape her dad without injury. She thought about getting her mom, but leaving them both here felt like a bad idea.

"What kind of punk puts his dirty mitts on my little girl, huh?" Jack barked.

Jason smirked. He was tempted to say something crude, but he learned that by the age of thirteen that spouting crap to make yourself feel better in moments like this will only result in you picking your own teeth off the floor. Luck seemed to be on his side today as a flash of green and teal passed his vision. A woman in a tight fitting blue suit ran passed the two men carrying what looked to a bazooka chasing after a green blur.

"Jack!" She yelled. "Ghost at 7 o'clock!"

The large orange clad man dropped him and grabbed his weapon yelling that they weren't finished with their little 'chat'. A wave of pain from being dropped so hard hit him like a ton of bricks. He wasn't even aware anyone was near him until he felt Jazz bush back his bangs and gently touch his shoulder. With a groan, he managed to stumble himself to his feet as she guided him inside and set him at the kitchen table to look over the damage.


End file.
